Dearly Beloved
by Lawson227
Summary: Inspired by that teeny exchange amidst the madness of last week's episode. I know, I know… Iris/Barry is canon, but as we've seen with ARROW, this crew of showrunners isn't afraid to turn canon on its ear. So it's with that faint hope, I hold out for a Caitlin/Barry future. Or at least a nugget. Especially given the reactions of our duo as they gazed upon that byline.
1. Chapter 1

**Dearly Beloved…**

 **AN:** Inspired by that teeny exchange amidst the madness of last week's episode. I know, I know… Iris/Barry is canon, but as we've seen with ARROW, this crew of showrunners isn't afraid to turn canon on its ear. So it's with that faint hope, I hold out for a Caitlin/Barry future. Or at least a nugget. Especially given the reactions of our duo as they gazed upon that byline.

 **Disclaimer:** The usual. Don't own anything other than the cracked out ideas in my head that need out.

* * *

"…that would mean we're living in a causal nexus. Wow—this is so trippy. Like… Marty and the Polaroid trippy."

"Not as trippy as the name on the byline."

"Iris West…Allen."

"Mazel…tov?"

The world as they knew it had pretty much been upended. All hell was pretty much breaking loose. Events that, even with all they'd seen in the past year, she couldn't have ever imagined as the remotest possibility were unfolding with rapid-fire speed with no immediate solutions looming on the horizon—and that snippet of conversation was all she could focus on.

No. Not the conversation. The byline.

That glaring, damning byline.

Iris West- _Allen_.

Caitlin knew she should be happy. At least on some level. That byline—the date on that newspaper of April 25, 2024 meant that they—or at the very least Barry—would survive.

Maybe more importantly, it meant that he would get his heart's deepest desire because no matter what he said, she knew his feelings for Iris still ran deep.

She couldn't help but wonder, however, how it was that Iris was able to write an in-depth piece on the disappearance and presumably _death_ —Caitlin suppressed a shudder at the thought—of her husband mere hours after its occurrence. After Ronnie had died— or so Caitlin had thought—in the particle accelerator explosion, she'd been near-catatonic with grief, only rousing herself to some semblance of functioning human with Barry's arrival at Star Labs weeks after the accident and Dr. Wells'—again, she suppressed a shudder at the thought of the man she'd so completely trusted—request that she come help him take care of the young man in a coma.

How she'd resented that request.

And in a way, how she'd hated Barry.

Who was this Barry Allen? Why was _he_ so important that Wells felt the need to save him? Felt the need to rouse her from her grief and force her to deal with someone who'd survived when Ronnie— _her_ Ronnie—hadn't?

Barry's being in a coma for so long had been something of a blessing in disguise—for both of them. He'd been spared the brunt of her rage and as for her…

She'd learned how to care again.

And after he awoke…

Well, despite her certainty it would never happen again—her absolute determination to _never_ allow it to happen again because she wasn't sure she could survive it—she had nevertheless learned how to love again.

Barry truly was the impossible in so many ways.

But as it so happened, his heart belonged to another.

And despite Iris moving on with Eddie while Barry lingered unconscious, and then her seeming obliviousness to his feelings once he awoke, Caitlin knew damned well Iris had some pretty deep-seated feelings for him as well and maintained a special place in her heart for him.

After all, how could she not? It was _Barry_.

And so Caitlin steeled her own heart—protected herself against further hurt. Until Ronnie's reappearance and her discovery that amidst her joy that he had survived, their love…hadn't. Not the way it had been before. Which brought with it a wave of renewed pain, but at the same time, made saying goodbye shockingly easy.

Certainly far easier than watching Barry constantly mooning over Iris. Or observing his tentative forays into a new relationship with Linda Park despite the fact that she herself was the one who'd encouraged him.

And _definitely_ easier than reading this byline. Written just hours after… after…

No. _No_. She wouldn't think it. She _couldn't_.

Which again, begged the question—how could Iris?

God knows, icy cold professionalism was a trait Caitlin deeply admired and aspired to in her own work but this was _Barry_.

Could Iris really be so professional to the point of absolute personal detachment? Or was her ability to write such an article indicative of something…else?

"Gideon?"

"Yes, Dr. Snow?"

"Is—" She paused, chewing on her thumbnail as she considered how to frame her question. She'd already learned, during their first encounter, that one had to be fairly specific with Gideon. "Are—" she started once more before stuttering to another awkward pause. She released an impatient sigh and shoved her hand through her hair. "Never mind."

"Yes, Dr. Snow."

She turned to leave then paused and took a final look back over her shoulder at the newspaper story with its byline that had made her heart sink. Barry had said he could travel back in time to change things. With that in mind, she kept returning to this room and pulling up the front page, her heart pounding in the hopes of seeing something different.

She wanted Barry to survive far beyond nine years into the future. Wells _had_ said they'd be fighting for centuries after all. So that boded well for his long-term survival, right? That little kernel of knowledge soothed a lingering ache deep within her. Barry would live. He would survive and fight and become acknowledged as the hero she knew he was.

Which begged the question—what was the change she was _really_ hoping to see on that front page?


	2. Chapter 2

"…that would mean we're living in a causal nexus. Wow—this is so trippy. Like… Marty and the Polaroid trippy."

"Not as trippy as the name on the byline."

"Iris West…Allen."

"Mazel…tov?"

The stunned bemusement and outright doubt in Cisco's congratulations perfectly echoed the emotions churning through Barry's gut in that instant. But he didn't have the luxury of more than a split second to even acknowledge his feelings, let along wonder what they meant, since in the next moment Gideon made her presence—and the shocking source of her origins—known.

Much later, when he found himself mentally hashing out the events of those fateful few days—hell, that fateful _year_ —he found himself not surprisingly lingering on the stunning revelations the nine-years-in-the-future front page had provided.

There was the obvious, of course. He'd survived. He would survive whatever fresh hell they would next encounter. He would survive whatever fresh hell he would encounter for at least the next nine years.

But then there was the big giant elephant in the room: that if that byline was to be believed he… and _Iris_ …

And the bitch of it was, he wasn't entirely sure how that made him feel other than…unsure. Especially with Caitlin standing beside him—the one who'd pointed out the byline in the first place, her voice stunned and.. and…

And _what_?

There had been something more in there, of that he was absolutely certain. What it was, however, completely escaped him, since everything in that moment had felt as if it was moving at warp speed—there and gone as quickly as a wish. Or like the elusive wisps of a dream only barely remembered.

The irony did not escape him.

Nor did the surety that there had been more contained within Caitlin's voice than mere observation.

Just as there had been more within his own emotional reaction beyond shock.

He and… _Iris_?

He should be happy about this, right? A surname of West-Allen meant at some point, she had finally confronted her feelings for him and acknowledged they had _something_. That they became something. They became the thing he'd long dreamed of—a couple, in love…married. Maybe even with a family.

He _should_ be happy. He should.

But honestly, this revelation brought with it as many questions as it did answers—more, even. Such as, what about Eddie? Despite his initial misgivings, Barry had actually grown to like the guy. Had come to see him not only as a valued colleague but as something of a friend. And he couldn't deny that Eddie was absolutely crazy about Iris. That he would do anything in his power to protect her and make her happy. Of all of them, he'd been the most miserable about keeping Barry's secret from her. Had felt the weight of it most keenly. And Barry hadn't been kidding about what he said to Iris—yes, Joe had told him not to reveal his secret identity to Iris, but despite some boneheaded maneuvers and idiotic behavior more fitting of a teenager, he _was_ a grown man. One quite capable of making his own decisions. If he'd decided it was in both of their best interests to reveal himself to Iris, he would have, Joe's decree be damned.

So…why hadn't he?

A hell of a question, that.

Yeah, he genuinely believed he was protecting her but when it came down to it, she had the better argument—that had she known earlier on, it would likely have kept her safer in the long run. Add to that, her early infatuation with The Flash, if he'd revealed himself to her then, it most certainly would have changed the course of recent events. He was pretty damned certain she wouldn't have moved in with Eddie. And she definitely would have considered him, Barry, in a different light.

A more favorable light.

But would she have ever been able to see him again as Barry without the persona of The Flash hanging between them?

Whereas Caitlin—

 _Caitlin_ …

She'd grown to know him as Barry and The Flash simultaneously. He knew, without having to ask, that to her, The Flash was him as he was The Flash—inextricably intertwined, but at heart, the same person. And he knew, without having to ask, that when she looked at him, she saw Barry first. The Flash, while not inconsequential, was not the sum total of what Caitlin saw in him.

She valued him as a scientist—and as a friend. If anything, she had supported him more—cared for him more—when they feared he'd lost his abilities and there was no guarantee he'd get them back.

But Iris…

He knew it wasn't completely her fault—if at all. He _was_ a grown man and had to be held accountable for not telling her sooner. Truth was, if she hadn't connected the dots herself, it might have been longer still, if ever, before she found out—but nevertheless, Barry just couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that even if he'd told her as soon as he himself became aware of his abilities and the secret identity he'd assumed, she _still_ wouldn't necessarily see him as her lifelong friend Barry who happened to have acquired some pretty nifty powers.

Truth was, he feared she would always see him as two separate entities. Always see one before the other. And always find one wanting.

Uneasiness continued to roil in the pit of his stomach, leaving him vaguely queasy as the realization dawned that it was uncomfortably close to how Thawne/Wells had regarded himself. Because for as brilliant as the real Harrison Wells had been, there was no denying Thawne had regarded himself as separate and superior to the man whose external appearance and life he'd co-opted. He had barely tolerated one only for what gains it could bring the other.

Of course, he was evil and all and Iris absolutely wasn't and it could be he was reading the situation all wrong—wasn't as if he hadn't been wrong before, but still…

Barry sighed and shifted uncomfortably as he stared at the Braille-patterned wall.

"Gideon?"

"Yes, Barry Allen?"

It still twigged him monumentally, even weeks later, that Gideon responded so readily to him.

Okay, truthfully, it twigged him monumentally that he—according to Gideon—had created her.

"Could you pull up the newspaper with the article about my…disappearance?"

Also twigging him monumentally, what "disappearance" might be a euphemism for but he wouldn't think about that right now. Couldn't.

Gideon's genial voice responded, "Certainly," as the front page of the Central City Citizen sprang to life on the wall before him, the photograph almost appearing to leap from the page.

Idly he studied the image, briefly wondering if that's what he really looked like in battle mode—so fierce and determined—before his gaze focused on the true source for his request.

Iris West-Allen.

There it was—not having changed since the moment Caitlin had first pointed it out. But for the first time, he focused on the article itself.

 _ **After an epic street battle with the Reverse-Flash, our city's very own Scarlet Speedster disappeared in an explosion of light. The cause of the fight is currently unknown. According to witnesses, The Flash, with help from Starling City's Green Arrow, The Atom, and Hawkgirl, began fighting the Reverse-Flash around midnight last night. The sky took on a deep crimson color as the ensuing battle created the most destruction this city has seen since The Flash first arrived in Central City.** _

He shook his head. Scarlet Speedster. Seriously? However, that bit of unnessary hyperbole aside, the opening of the article was crisp, cleanly written, and…cold as hell. He sighed again, shoving an impatient hand through his hair as he reread the first paragraph and quickly skimmed the rest of the article.

Of course he understood the necessity of maintaining professionalism, especially with, as the rest of the article revealed, Joe as Police Chief. Close personal ties by the author of the article to two major players—even if one connection was presumably still unknown—would definitely demand an even greater measure of objectivity in order to maintain journalistic integrity. But the Iris he knew so well couldn't help but allow some measure of personal feeling to bleed over into her work. It had been evident even from her earliest blog entries about The Flash.

This, however…

Journalistic integrity or not—maintaining his cover or not—they were _married_.

Her husband had disappeared and she was writing about it hours after the fact as if she had absolutely no feelings about it one way or the other.

Even Caitlin—the very model of stoic professionalism—had shown signs of very obvious pain months after the accident that had taken her fiancé.

She hadn't smiled much.

Until she did.

Usually with him.

Almost as much as she argued with him.

Sometimes both at the same time.

He kind of loved that about her.

"Thanks, Gideon."

"Of course, Barry Allen."

The image flickered and disappeared, leaving him staring at the Braille-walls again as if he could decipher the answers to all the questions he had. That would of course mean he could even formulate the questions in the first place.

Or maybe he was just afraid to articulate them.

"You know, Gideon, knowing the future sucks as much as knowing the past."

"But both can be changed."

Barry considered Gideon's matter-of-fact statement. The articulation of a possibility he'd weighed time and again as he wrestled with what steps to take next and the likely—or unlikely—outcomes.

"Of course they can." He paused and considered his next words carefully—words he might never considered before. Except now he knew how drastically even one small change could alter reality.

"Of course they can," he repeated more softly, "but at what cost?"

He turned to leave, but found himself frozen by Gideon's well-modulated voice.

"But what is the cost if you do not?"


	3. Chapter 3

Caitlin made her way into the lab, blinking slowly as she sipped from her mega-venti from Jitters and praying the caffeine would kick in—like, immediately. They'd all been pulling a lot of late nights in recent weeks—battling the distractions Wells-not-Wells kept sending their way coupled with trying to decipher the secret web of technology that Wells-not-Wells had created and maintained beneath the surface of S.T.A.R. Labs.

There was more, of course, but they didn't talk about that. Much easier to focus on experiments and bad guys and technology so far beyond anything any of them had ever encountered before than to consider the very real possibility of the future their first encounter with Gideon had allowed them to see.

A future that had yet to change, no matter what they did.

Caitlin told herself that the primary change they were all working toward was Reverse Flash's defeat and Barry's long-term survival. And it was.

And if there was a tiny part of her that piped up, wishing for something else—something more personal—well, it was easy enough to quash that voice by diving into yet another set of experiments or talking Barry through surviving yet another encounter with yet another metahuman intent on killing him.

She wondered exactly how many metahumans Wells had been aware of and yet remained silent, waiting for just the right moment to unleash them as distractions.

"CammoMan."

She rolled her eyes as she set her coffee down on her desk and flopped into her chair.

"Another all-nighter, Cisco?"

"Yeah, why?" he answered absently, his gaze focused on the specs for the Pipeline. Every time they interred a new metahuman, he grew ever-more obsessed with changing the security protocols and adding layers of defense.

"Because the more all-nighters you pull, the worse your meta nicknames get."

Cisco spun his chair around to face her. "Since Everyman was taken, I had to come up with something—and since this guy has the ability to seamlessly blend with his surroundings, what else was I gonna call him?"

Caitlin winced at both the memory of Everyman and at the sight of Cisco draining the remains of the Mountain Dew Code Red he'd been subsisting on along with an endless supply of puffy cheese balls, leaving him hyper-wired and with permanently orange-stained fingers.

Not at all anxious to dwell on Everyman, she nevertheless felt compelled to say, "You really don't have to name them all."

"I have to do _something_."

She sighed as he spun himself back around and began furiously tapping away at the keyboard, bringing up yet another set of schematics they'd unearthed amidst the data Wells-not-Wells had kept secreted away. Turned out, there were levels to S.T.A.R. Labs they'd been completely unaware of, adding to Cisco's paranoia. His not-uncalled-for paranoia, she reminded herself.

"You need to rest, Cisco. Barry and I, we're smart, but we're not mechanical engineer smart. We need you."

"And I need to stay one step ahead, Cait. Or at least, not meander twelve steps behind. And who the hell knows which meta might have the key to letting all of them out at the worst possible moment, courtesy of Wells?"

"He's from the _future_ , Cisco. Don't you think he's likely already aware of everything we've already tried?"

"Doesn't mean we can't alter his future by constantly changing our behavior now." He spun back around, his normally mild brown gaze fierce and angry and Caitlin knew it wasn't directed at her, but rather his own inability to have kept them safe. The same feeling they'd all been battling these past weeks.

"At the very least, I might be able to do enough to keep him off balance–enough to have to return constantly to keep up with our changes." His fists clenched around the arms of his chair. "At some point, he's going to make a mistake. He _has_ to—because no matter whatever else he is, he's human."

Caitlin had her doubts about the latter but she couldn't deny Cisco's plan contained a certain measure of merit. Besides—he was stubborn as hell and if this was how he felt his abilities were best used, there would be no dissuading him. Especially with all the Code Red and cheese ball dust coursing through his system. She made a mental note to force him to get some rest and have a meal that contained actual protein at some point today, if she had to knock him out herself to do it. However, for the time being, best to focus her attention elsewhere—like on the other primary member of their erstwhile team.

"Have you seen Barry? I went past the station on my way in and he wasn't there. And he's not picking up his phone." She was worried, but not surprised. He'd retreated even more into himself since the revelations that had rocked all their worlds, but especially his. Her heart ached for him, but there wasn't a dmaned thing she could do other than let him know she was there when he was ready to talk.

That he hadn't…

Well, if anyone had told her there was a way to hurt more than she had after Ronnie's supposed death, she would have laughed it off as an impossibility. Now, however… not so much.

Already absorbed in the lastest set of schematics and formulas, Cisco absent-mindedly replied, "He pulled an all-nighter too. Been in with Gideon reviewing all the surveillance footage Wells had on us."

Her stomach dropped. "He's reviewing… _all_ of it?"

"Well, everything except the Eddie and Iris Sexytimes Show. He deleted that first thing. Said there wasn't anything he needed to see there. Ever." Plastic rustled as Cisco tore into a bag of Twizzlers, the sound almost, but not quite obliterating the buzzing in her ears that had started the moment he'd said "reviewing all the surveillance footage."

"Everything else he's double and triple-checking. Especially the stuff from Joe's house and his lab. He's trying to get ahead of Wells—figure out if there's any way he can possibly guess his next move based on anything we learned or did."

 _"He has surveillance set up everywhere. Our homes, my lab at the police station—Central City Picture News—"_

The buzzing intensified as Barry's panicked words echoed in her mind, growing especially buzzy every time she recalled, "my lab." It felt as if she had a veritable swarm of those obnoxious bees their crazy bee girl had let loose, flying free in her brain and stinging her with an increasingly growing sense of panic.

"I guess, then, I'll go check on him. If he pulled an all-nighter, there's no guarantee he remembered to eat and now more than ever he needs to keep his strength up, especially after going to Nanda Parbat and helping Oliver and Felicity and well, you know what happens when he doesn't eat enough and then he puts on the super-speed and if, as you said, Wells is sending us all these metahumans to keep us distracted Barry's got to stay as on top of his game as possible and you know, maybe I should run some tests, just to make sure he's okay…"

Caitlin was babbling—she knew she was babbling, yet every time she tried to stop herself from babbling more words came pouring out until she was approaching Felicity-levels of babbling. Luckily, however, Cisco was too absorbed in his work to notice she was babbling.

Summoning all her self-control, she took slow measured steps from the lab before breaking into a dead run the moment she hit the hallway, only slowing as she approached the Super Secret Whammy Genie A.I. Room—as Cisco, of course, had dubbed it. She slowed even more as she grew closer to the door panel, closed but already reprogrammed to allow her and Cisco access.

Once at the door, however, she hesitated—did she really want to do this? She'd kept the secret this long and Barry, if he'd seen the footage—okay, she knew if he'd been in there all night he had to have seen the footage—might not want to address it any more than she did. After all, it hadn't really been him. And had nothing to do with their current battle. And ultimately, they—she—had been able to resume their everyday interactions with only a brief modicum of awkwardness. That she knew had confused him, but then hey—the end of the world as they knew it started and it sort of took a back seat to everything else.

There was no way he'd want to make a big deal of it, right?

Right.

She could go in there—as his friend—and make certain he was doing okay. Ask—as his friend—if he'd eaten, knowing damn well he hadn't. And—as his friend—suggest they leave the labs for a while, go get something to eat, maybe even talk about something that wasn't Wells or the future or anything other than maybe what a nice spring day it was.

She sighed.

Because she could really distract him from _anything_ having to do with the future they'd been shown.

Only one person could possibly do that and it wasn't Caitlin Snow.

As Dr. Snow, however… She could at least get him out of the labs for a half-hour. Just enough time to eat food that didn't come out of a cardboard box and breathe in a few lungfuls of non-recycled air. Barry didn't fear much, but he feared her Dr. Snow persona and would listn to her—especially if he felt it would give him the strength for the battles that lay ahead.

With a deep breath, she pressed her hand to the panel and as the door fragmented with a smooth hiss, stepped through into the room.

Barry sat on the floor, the screen before him flickering with dozens of images, scrolling past almost too fast for Caitlin to focus on any one. Tension that had held her muscles hostage began releasing its punishing grip. He wasn't going to worry about it. Honestly, he'd probably dismissed it as soon as he saw it, recognizing it for the anomaly it was. While she couldn't help but feel a sharp bite of disappointment that he could dismiss it _that_ easily, she was nevertheless relieved. Because she couldn't lose him. What little of him she had.

Relieved, she took what felt like her first full breath since Cisco had mentioned Barry's task.

In the next instant, however, that restoring breath lodged in her chest like a jagged-edged rock as the flickering images slowly coalesced into one large image, consuming the entirety of the wall.

An image of her lab.

Of Barry.

And of her.

"Why didn't you tell me, Caitlin?"


	4. Chapter 4

"We were… busy?"

Barry turned from his study of the image dominating the wall to see one shoulder rising in that sheepish way, nose wrinkling slightly as one corner of her mouth went up in a half-grimace/half-smile.

He took an extra moment to consider that. He knew her well enough to know the subtleties of her body language—when a shrug was sheepish and not dismissive, to know that she had a habit of sweeping one side of her hair back while allowing the other to fall forward—a curtain behind which she could hide. He knew that when nervous or thinking a problem through, she still had the habit of rubbing the third finger of her left hand, as if twisting the ring that had once lived there.

One thing he didn't know—when, exactly, had she stopped wearing it?

A question for another time. Maybe a question that didn't even matter. Not in the light of all the other questions he had.

"Yeah, we've been busy, but so busy you couldn't tell me—" His voice trailed off as he gestured helplessly at the screen behind him.

"Barry, it wasn't even you."

He snorted. "Yeah, I'd like to think I wouldn't forget something like accosting one of my best friends. Although—" Now he risked a glance back over his shoulder to the image dominating the wall. He knew the exact moment at which Gideon had chosen to pause it—their second kiss, Caitlin relaxing into his hold and most assuredly kissing him back.

Kissing _Everyman_ back, he reminded himself, steeling himself against the bitterness that swept through him. He would have thought as many times as he'd watched the damned clip, he'd have become numb to it, but no such luck. If anything, it was worse.

"It does explain why you slapped the crap out of me."

"Barry…" She extended her hands, palms up, as if beseeching him to understand and he did. All too well.

"No, Caitlin…I get it. I just wish you'd—"

"No, Barry, you _don't_ get it."

He jerked as she cut him off and took a wary step back as she began advancing.

"You don't get it because you can't _possibly_ understand how I was feeling or what I was thinking."

"Caitlin—" It was his turn to hold his hands up, even as he kept stepping back until the wall stopped his progress. The feel of the textured wall poking his back jolted him as effectively as if he'd been touched by a live wire, prompting him to lean in just as Caitlin closed the final step between them.

"How much do you really have to tell me?" he snapped as yet _another_ wave of irrational anger swept through him. "I saw it. I saw how you jerked away—how relieved you looked when Iris showed up."

"Oh you think you know everything do you?" Unmistakable anger laced her voice in turn as she leaned in and poked his chest, sending more of those live wire jolts going through him. "How about it took me completely by surprise? How about I was too embarrassed to tell you how strongly I reacted to kissing someone who's in love with someone else? And then to realize it wasn't even you? How was I supposed to tell you any of this? How was I supposed to even explain it?"

At some point during her tirade he'd captured the hand poking him in one of his. As her voice trailed off, he could feel her vibrating with the force of her emotions, eyes bright and suspiciously shiny as they glared up at him.

"How—" His voice caught in his throat, prompting him to clear it and try again. Softer, he said, "How did you react?"

"God, Barry—" She tried to pull her hand free, but he tightened his grip, absorbing her increasing agitation. "You can _see_ for yourself!" She waved her free hand wildly at the giant image on the screen.

"I have seen," he said, as he alternated staring down at their hands and into her eyes. "I've seen it over and over but no matter how many times I see it, I still don't know—" Once again his voice faltered.

After a long pause, she very quietly asked, "Know what?"

He thought he could face her and ask this. Thought that, after as much as they'd been through together—as many times as he'd watched the video and studied every nuance of every expression that had crossed her face—that he could look her in the eye and ask the question that had burned a hole in his chest from the first moment he'd seen the imposter spinning Caitlin into his arms and kissing her as if his life depended on it.

Well…he supposed it had.

Maybe it still did.

Ever so gently and slowly, he turned her so her back was to his chest, both of them facing the image that Gideon, as if somehow sensing that larger than life wasn't necessary in this moment, had shrunk down to something far less intimidating—and far more intimate.

"I've watched this dozens of times, Caitlin." As if on cue it began playing again, the sound muted. "Over and over I've watched it. I've seen your shock and your discomfort and yeah, I even saw how you kissed me back, but the one thing I don't know is—" he took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his heart beat, "how did you _feel_?"

She remained silent, not that he'd really expected an answer. Frankly, he'd half expected that she'd slap him again and pretty much, rightly so. She hadn't wanted to bring it up—that much was clear. She'd been embarrassed—also clear. And really, he should have been grateful she wanted to avoid making a _thing_ about this. She'd spared him what she thought was discomfort. Had kept things between them steady and normal—outside of slapping him, of course. She had done what she always did—taken care of him.

"It doesn't matter, Barry."

"It should."

"No, it shouldn't."

And he knew, the way he somehow always knew with her, what she was saying with what she wasn't saying.

"It's not written in stone, Caitlin."

"It's what you've always wanted."

"And we can't change our minds about what we want?"

"Of course we can, but…it's important to your future."

"Yeah, but—" He considered his next words carefully. "Who's to say changing my mind wouldn't change my future for the better?"

"But what if it's for worse?"

He stifled a chuckle as warmth coursed through his body. She just wouldn't be Caitlin if she didn't argue. If she didn't force him to defend his position. Her sigh was clearly exasperated, but at the same time relaxed her enough to have her leaning against his chest. His arms rose, almost of their own volition and circled her waist, loose enough she could easily break free if she felt he was taking too many liberties. She didn't break free. Rather, she sighed and relaxed further into him, her hair teasing the underside of his chin. Tentatively, he lowered his head the rest of the way, resting it lightly on hers.

"That's kind of a risk we take with every choice we make, isn't it?"

"But Barry…"

"And don't tell me about Wells knowing the future, Caitlin—" he broke in. "No matter how much he knows, he can't possibly know me as well as he thinks he does. There's just no damned way he can know what's in my heart."

That fine trembling began taking over her body once more, prompting him to tighten his hold. "But it's been Iris for so long."

"It has," he agreed easily. "But maybe it's time for it not to be."

"How can you say that, especially after seeing that byline?"

"Because—" Almost without thinking, he turned his head just enough to rub his cheek against her hair. "I can't think of any other reason why seeing you kissing someone who looked like me but wasn't me pissed me off more than I've ever been pissed off in my life while seeing that byline just left me feeling confused and…kinda empty."

His heart stuttered a bit as he felt her relax into his hold just a tiny bit more. He wasn't even certain she was aware she was doing it, but you know, he wasn't going to argue.

One more the video froze in the same place it had been when she first walked in—eyes closed, hands relaxed, and clearly relaxing into the kiss.

Very softly he asked, "How did you feel, Caitlin?"

Once again she remained silent and he felt his heart stop. Honest to God, screeching halt, _stop_.

And then jump start into a rapid-fire rhythm that rivaled the fastest he'd ever run as she smoothly turned in his arms and drew his head down.

"Like this," she whispered an instant before her mouth touched his.

This time it was his turn to jerk in surprise—if only because holy mother, it felt even better than anything he'd ever imagined. And he _had_ imagined it. More than he'd even realized until this moment. Changing the angle of his head slightly, he deepened the kiss, silently asking and sighing as she answered, opening her mouth to his, her tongue stroking his while her teeth gently sank into his lower lip, making him groan and hold her tighter still.

"This is insane," she gasped when they finally came up for air.

He laughed. "What about our lives isn't?" He buried his head in her neck, breathing in the scent of her and feeling, for the first time since his suspicions about Wells had reared their ugly heads, as if everything just might be okay. No matter what happened— _they'd_ be okay.

For a long, long time.

And he felt absolutely no need to ask Gideon to show him the future.

* * *

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"

Caitlin looked past the minister to find Barry's gaze steadily fixed on her, the small smile that never failed to send a shiver down her spine curving his mouth.

 _"Behave. We're in a church,"_ she mouthed, fighting a smile of her own.

 _"Can't help it—you're hot_ , _"_ he mouthed back, his eyes brilliant green with mischief.

A subtle throat clearing captured her attention, making her glance toward the front pew where Felicity sat, shaking her head, a reproachful eyebrow raised followed by an eloquent roll of her eyes as Barry's grin grew wider and he shrugged, clearly unrepentant.

Despite how happy she was and dear God, was she happy—happier than she'd ever been—she nevertheless still worried that they were all out of their minds, taking the time for weddings when madness still ruled their worlds and each day brought with it a new battle. But surprisingly, it was Joe who insisted—saying if not now, then when? And if they had the opportunity to grasp happiness—and with it, the power to change the future—then they needed to do it.

Caitlin had never seen any two people happier than Eddie and Iris in that moment. Other than maybe her and Barry when he'd asked her to marry him and she'd said yes.

Now she could only pray he would behave better when _their_ wedding rolled around in a few months' time, but she had a feeling he'd only be more irrepressible.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

In a room not far from the church, a wall glowed, the front page of the April 25, 2024 Central City Citizen flickering to life.

 ** _Reverse Flash Disappears_**

 ** _Flash Vows to Keep Searching_**

 ** _Iris West-Thawne_**


End file.
